


Transmigration

by hepatica



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, general depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepatica/pseuds/hepatica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ocelot learns how to love John. Big Boss unlearns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Eight years ago he'd stood over Snake's bed, just like this. The older man had slept nude, his back turned to Ocelot, slowly breathing.  
  
It would have been easy to slide the knife in between his ribs then. Ocelot had fantasised about it, imagined blood streaming out from a bullet to Snake's head. Thought about that eye burned and blinded, Ocelot's signature carved into his face. He could kill him. He had to. He couldn't bear to let this man exist. He was gripped by a passion to - do something to him. And the only thing Ocelot knew was to hurt. Bruise and break and lie. Shoot. Stab. Kill.  
  
He thumbed the blade in his hand. He wasn't under orders to keep Snake alive this time. And yet –

– he had been so kind. Ocelot had never known kindness before, not like that. He remembered the blissful feeling of saying that man's name again, being told he was _good, a good kid, you be yourself with me, Adam, I don't mind._

But Ocelot couldn't have that. Not from the source of his embarrassment as he was repeatedly beaten to the ground in front of his unit – the man who had replaced him as a son – refused to put a bullet through his brain on that WIG 4 years ago –  
  
Snake made a choked sound, as if caught halfway through a sob. Ocelot didn't have nightmares, but he knew well enough when other people did. He laid a hand on Snake's arm. He was sweating, murmuring in distress, muscles tense as if ready to spring. Ocelot paused a moment before pressing his own over-warm hand to Snake's forehead, hushing him quietly. Before long he calmed, nightmare chased off.

Defeated and despising his own weakness, Ocelot pulled the cover over Snake's cool skin and returned to his own bedding. That night he dreamt for the first time since childhood: he saw Snake cut to pieces, lifeless eye staring at him, and woke in such distress that he crawled over to John's side to make sure he was okay. He slept close by after, comforted by the other man's heat.

If this was love, it needed gouging out.

In that Dhekelia hospital, Ocelot dragged a chair to John's bedside and began his long wait.

  
\--

 

Staring down at Zero's latest attempt to play god, Ocelot had yet to decide if he believed in the concept of soul, that objective existence that proved _who was who and why that was_. Having felt he lacked any singularly identifiable essence of his own since birth, the idea of possessing something as pure and unchangeable as a _soul_ was almost laughable.

And yet he felt a presence in John he doubted he could replicate in this copy before him. Felt that inexplicable resonance shared between them from the moment they'd met was caused by something more obscure than anything found in the mind or body. He'd grown around that bond like a weed, propagated a sense of self from it, and was now deathly afraid to sever or spoil it.

He smiled derisively at himself: some kind of practical philosopher he was turning out to be, experimenting like this. The clones were a failure in continuing John's existence in his absence, but this – _this_ had potential. Para-Medic would be proud. There was more to be considered, but his immediate concern was waiting for John. The phantom would only be given life in his shadow, after all.

 

\--

 

Five years later, and he was tired.

Sand clung to his greying hair, the creases of his Soviet uniform – the desert was always there, no matter how many times he washed. He feared contaminating that cocoon John lay in, but he feared not seeing him even more. He came as often as his posting allowed, which wasn't as often as he liked but just enough to keep John's sleeping face a constant in his mind.

Years ago, he had been asked to consider what he might do if John never came back. He was forced to consider it now. He imagined sitting by his bedside until death claimed them both, waiting for a day that never came. Tending to a bedridden man, awake but damaged beyond repair, the remnants of his mind locked inside a phantom body as he withered.

Resentment grew towards the man laying on the other side of the partition. He threw back the curtain to look at him – considered killing him right there and then, if it weren't all for keeping John alive.

Zero could burn in hell for this blasphemy.

 

\--

 

Ocelot rubbed at his dick in the hospital bathroom, the sight of John breathing as his pliant body was massaged and exercised still fresh in his mind. It had been – years – since he had so much thought of John as anything but his silent charge in bed, let alone fucking him –

He bit his lip hard and came, spilling over his hand.

He tasted blood from his lips: disgust. It may have been natural to react to some skin, but Ocelot had no interest in being that lowly. John deserved his reverence, not a furtive jacking off in the toilets. He was thirty-seven now, not some over-sexed major getting on his hands and knees for any burly, dark-haired man that even slightly resembled his mentor.

He washed his hand thoroughly and re-gloved before returning to John's side, making his silent apologies.

 

\--

 

The eighth year passed, and Ocelot remembered watching the shadow of a bird flit across the hospital room, a wing passing over John's ageing face. Miller's rage as he was repeatedly denied access to his old partner. EVA looking for those failed copies of John's existence she called her children. Sergei's young daughter scraping her knees and refusing to cry. Zero's silence. Donald refusing to listen to reason. That unholy hum of computers processing thought as he was led into that Patriots lab for the first time.

He stood apart from it all, his mastery of human behaviour having gradually isolated him from the herd. He turned his attention to animals now, enjoying their spontaneity, their refusal to bend to his will without a fight; there were bites and scratches up and down his arms from training Afghan dogs. He had a horse now too, white like his mother's – he waited eagerly to show him off to John. Nothing was good until John had approved it. 

For all his talk of ocelots hunting alone, he was lonely without his only real friend.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Maybe he could sleep the rest of the year away too.

 

\--

 

He felt his luck turn the next year as he washed blood from his hands, the knife having slipped in his fingers as he'd cut the flower stems for John's bedside. He'd tried explaining the concept to John before with questionable success.

"So, it's some kind of psychic ability?" he'd said incredulously around a cigarette, hands busy stitching up a nasty gash on Ocelot's arm. _Luck_ had just saved them from something far worse than a few scrapes and bruises.

"Not exactly. It's more like - knowing when my luck comes, and steering it in the right direction. If you've seen a pattern enough times you can pick out all the threads."

"Analysis and wishful thinking?"

"Right. Never worked against you though. Couldn't get lucky to save my life." Ocelot smiled as Snake paused to draw the last few puffs of smoke out before grinding his cigarette into the ground. "Or maybe I was, seeing as you didn't kill me."

Snake eyed him, a mysterious expression on his face. “There's no such thing as luck on the battlefield."

"The Boss said that too..."

"You don't agree?”

Snake was testing him. Ocelot inspected the curved line of stitches on his arm.

"I'm not The Boss,” he replied.

With a blunt thumb and pressing too hard, Snake traced his handiwork, saying nothing.

 

\--

 

John's emotions woke before he did. Unbound, they tore through his body in a confused rage. He slept lightly and often woke up in a fit of terror, weeping as he recalled bursts of flame from the chopper crash, the agony of lightning striking his body. Deep, unknown sorrows plagued him: memories of a woman in a field of white flowers, a machine and its song sinking below the waves. On the second night he woke covered in cold sweat. He clung to Ocelot's arm, singular eye wet with tears.

“You're okay,” Ocelot said, smoothing his hands over John's bare shoulders. He was fragile, unbearably so: Ocelot could barely stand to touch him in this state.

As Ocelot pulled back a terrifying clarity came over John's face. That eye, bearing a lifetime of hurt and betrayal without knowledge of who or what had inflicted it upon him, now seemed sharper and more dangerous than a knife held to his throat. He felt raw, as if every layer of skin had been peeled back – never been closer to death than in that moment his value was weighed and judged. He wanted to squirm away, lock himself back up before John saw something he didn't like. _Don't hurt me._

As soon as the moment came, it passed.

“Can't sleep,” John said, voice soft.

“I'll be here,” Ocelot replied, touching his hand. He waited for John to fall into a deep sleep before leaving the room to collect himself.

It rained on his mother's statue outside, water sliding off her hard-cut cheekbones. He wanted to tell her something – used to tell her things all the time as a child before he found she could barely stand to look at him as an adult. Exactly what that was, he had no idea, so he let the rain run over his face and hair before returning to his vigil at her son's bedside.

John woke late the next day, the sun gently baking his green and white bedsheets.

“Don't let me fall asleep again,” he said. “I'm done sleeping.”

Ocelot smiled, emptying a vase of wilting flowers before they dropped more petals.

“Welcome back, Boss.”

 

\--

  
"You going sit down already? Feels like you're trying to rub being able to walk in my face.”

Ocelot ceased pacing to look at Big Boss. He was sitting up in bed, free from life support but looking haggard. He'd need a trim before he was allowed to leave, Ocelot noted. He was poking at his food like it was poison.  
  
"Don't tell me you've grown tastebuds.”  
  
John grumbled. "I just want a smoke. Nine years of catching up on world affairs and waking up to computers coming to life to take over the world is a lot to take in."  
  
Ocelot tried his best not to smile. "They're not _coming to life_ , John. Were you even listening? Never mind – and no smoking until you're given the all clear. You can barely make it out of bed and you only just started eating. I – _we_ – need you fit and on your feet as soon as possible. Just take it easy for now, Boss."  
  
"I'd take it easier with a smoke..."  
  
Ocelot rolled his eyes and continued pacing, turning over thoughts on the mechanisms of his impending hypnosis, how to discreetly contact EVA now that John was awake – she'd been too pained to visit him again after the first time - how he would handle Miller –  
  
"What's that?"  
  
John was eyeing off a chocolate bar stuffed into the pocket of Ocelot's duster. He'd picked it up from the foyer, did every time he came to visit purely out of habit.  
  
"It's yours, if you can reach it.”

“This how you treat your prisoners?”

“Want me to gag you next?”

John scoffed. “I'd like to see you try.”

It was a bit of a stretch from the bed to where his duster was slung over the chair, but John could do with a challenge. His depth perception was worse than ever, and he often spoke of objects sliding away from him or disappearing all together; the night he'd grabbed Ocelot's sleeve was the first and only thing he had felt within reach since waking up. He grunted and swiped at chocolate bar, determined to get his hands on something solid again.

Ocelot took pleasure from watching John eat, nourishing his life. They hadn't been afforded much time together from the beginning of their friendship until now, but the thought of John's heart still pumping blood had been of comfort in those barren years apart. He almost liked the idea of feeding John until he was stuffed, overly content and soft-bellied. Maybe in another life.

He didn't realise he was staring until John stopped chewing.

“Something up?” he said.

“Nothing,” Ocelot said quickly. He looked away, his gloves becoming very interesting. He'd never been a good liar around John. “Just thinking over some things.”

"Huh. You think a lot. _Take it easy_.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ocelot teased. John grumbled something about wanting his eyepatch back before cramming the rest of the chocolate bar into his mouth. Things had comfortably carried on between them as if they had never been apart. John seemed to recall the years spent asleep, if not the details of them. Just a long stretch of unfathomable time spent alone, wandering his own mind without direction or control, looking for comfort that never came. Ocelot had felt such an intense pity for him that he had turned his face away, afraid to insult him.

Right now John was frowning at the mess he had made on the sheets, resembling a child as he often did, and Ocelot suddenly wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, breath his warm skin in through his thin hospital gown, let him smoke as much as he wanted to, comb those crumbs from his overgrown beard, pull him inside his body for safekeeping –

He picked up his latest dossier and sat down instead.

“Drink your water,” he ordered.

  
\--

 

Soon enough, John wanted a real shower. Ocelot quickly interjected before an enthusiastic nurse could offer her assistance. John's heavy arm slung over his shoulder, Ocelot couldn't help but savour the feeling of John's warm, unsteady body at his side. He pulled him in a little tighter as they passed that phantom, still asleep.

Ocelot drew the curtains and tested the water as John settled down on the seat naked, his tired body unfurling under the warm spray. He was soft under Ocelot's hands, eyes closed and mouth open as Ocelot massaged his tightly drawn muscles. Water collected in his beard. _Really needs a trim_ , Ocelot thought again as he smoothed back the hair on John's forehead. He'd take care of that after, if John let him.

“Feels good,” John said quietly, letting some water run into his open mouth.

“Tell me if it's too hot.”

“No, I mean your hands.”

“Oh,” Ocelot said stupidly. He kneaded the thick muscle of John's thigh and elicited a satisfied groan. “This good?”

John grunted his approval.

“All right.”

Before he could stop himself, Ocelot was back to exploring John's face, tracing the creases and scars he'd gained over the years. He'd never had the chance to examine his wounded eye so closely, let alone touch it – he found his fingers had been aching for it. And John was completely relaxed under his hands, allowing him to mould his body into whatever shape he saw fit. Thrilled by John's trust in him, images flashed in his mind before he could suppress them – spreading those thighs – burying himself in that tight heat –

Ocelot felt John staring at him now, his chest rising and falling with short, aroused pants. Ocelot met his gaze, seeking approval. John nodded shortly, and Ocelot took him in hand, almost moaning at the feel of that slick weight under his palm. John leant forward, breathing hotly into Ocelot's ear as he teased his slit. He mouthed at the skin of Ocelot's throat; Ocelot shuddered at the feeling of his plump lips, the graze of tongue and beard.

He was unbearably hot, eyes blurring, hair damp against his scalp and stuck to his forehead. He was already hard at the sight of John's flushed skin, those spread thighs having grown thicker the more he was fed. Still too thin, even with that small, sleep-softened paunch, but resembling his old self more every day. He wanted to collect John in his arms, lay him down in the water, watch his face slacken and twist in pleasure as he was filled and pumped into. Or let John roll him over and fuck him, rest that immense weight on him – he'd liked that in the dark, all those years ago.

He wondered how many people had serviced Big Boss like this. He was sure he was nothing more than a convenient pair of hands at the moment – they were both military, after all – nor was he the overly jealous type, being as solitary as he was. But the thought of being replaceable – familiar faces having their hands on him like this -

_\- had she?_

An unpleasant feeling roiled in the pit of his stomach, sobering his arousal. He quickened the pace, wanting to get it over with. With an expert twist Ocelot coaxed an orgasm from John's flushed body; he grunted like an animal, jerking roughly in Ocelot's hand as he spilled. Ocelot stared at his soiled hand for a moment before placing it under the spray to clean.

The act had exhausted John. With some effort Ocelot managed to dry and move him from the shower to the bed in a decent condition. He dozed as Ocelot tried his best to ignore John's clean, exposed skin and his own lingering arousal. He couldn't keep John here forever, nor had he planned to. It had been an indulgence to have him alone for so long.

With some reluctance, Ocelot finally set the eyepatch he'd kept from John on the table.

Big Boss said nothing upon waking from his nap. Once Ocelot had tidied his beard, he lay gazing at the ceiling like he did most nights. It seemed he could bring himself to make conversation when the sun was out, but crawled back into the darkness the moment it sunk below the window: a cold blooded snake, after all.

Run out of ways to busy his hands and growing more uneasy with that silence, Ocelot blurted out: "There's a movie night. On Friday."  
  
Big Boss looked over, wearing his eyepatch now.  
  
"They've got a projector. It...boosts morale. The subtitles are in Greek. Good for picking up some of the local slang. They're playing Django this week - "  
  
Big Boss snorted. "You haven't changed."  
  
"Was I supposed to?"  
  
Big Boss looked back to the ceiling. The deep creases on his cheeks bunched up as he tried to form a smile. "Don't do that. You're good as you are. After all those years...yeah, I'll go. But I'm walking there on my own two feet. And I'm smoking."  
  
Ocelot couldn't help but feel slighted when the Man on Fire woke up, called by something beyond John's consciousness. 

 

\--

 

A warm hand gripped his shoulder, smelling of smoke. 

“ _Junior._ I'm counting on you.”

A deep pleasure washed over Ocelot's heart. He would bury it there until he was needed again. He made the final preparations and readied Ishmael for his rebirth into the world.

  
\--

  
  
The hospital burned a bright smudge against the horizon as Ocelot unwrapped the last of Ishmael's head bandages. He looked wild, sweaty, his skin puffed and irritated from smoke. His one eye was watery and red.  
  
"Any survivors?"  
  
Big Boss shook his head. "Doubt it."  
  
Ocelot imagined his mother's statue aflame, the flickering light casting a stern expression on her face. He returned to Big Boss, who was already naked and inspecting the riding gear provided for him. Burns and smears of blood marked the body so pristinely kept for almost a decade. There were grazes on his flanks from where Ocelot had dragged him from the overturned ambulance.  
  
"You've got glass in your leg. Here."  
  
Big Boss paused as Ocelot carefully plucked out the embedded glass from his thigh. A thin line of blood streamed out from the wound.  
  
"Brave boy," Ocelot joked, patting his leg like he was encouraging a colt. His gaze lingered on Big Boss's tired face – for too long, considering what monstrosities were chasing him down, but he couldn't bear to look away.

"I've got to move,” Ocelot said first. “You stay here until I get back. And for god's sake don't try anything, if you get spotted there's not much I can do for you. I'll draw that _thing's_ attention."  
  
Big Boss nodded his approval, handling his gun like it was an old friend. They weren't ones for heartfelt reassurances.  
  
Ocelot mounted his white Andalusian.

“Nice horse,” Big Boss commented, that odd expression on his face again.

“You can ride him if we survive this.”

Big Boss showed his teeth for a moment before waving Ocelot off to chase down his phantom.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_1984_

Waking was difficult. A violent dream where he was fifteen and trying to put The Boss's blood back inside her shook him awake in a panic. A man was there to dab the sweat from his forehead afterwards, smelling just like she had.

He knew that presence, and knew without doubt he could trust it. There were two souls in the world that could never end the other's existence, and he felt them both in this room. He grabbed an arm and held on for dear life.

"I'll be here," Ocelot said quietly, leaning back in his chair by John's bed. He was always there.

Later the next day Ocelot was dozing in his chair by the hospital bed, still as lazy under the sun as Big Boss remembered him to be.

For a moment in time Big Boss had barely remembered a thing. He had been trapped between two bodies, unsure of where he belonged. He saw himself as a demon, sewn together to resemble a human before falling back into himself, drawn by the memory of his first kill, his last kill, the burning of Mother Base into the ocean, all sensations on his skin. But this old body seemed poisoned, half-paralysed with apathy to things kinder than war. 

The world was within reach again, at least. He tested his presence and laid a hand on Ocelot's head resting on the sheets. He stroked his hair, looking for that youthful bristle under his hand. Instead Ocelot was greyed and soft, hair kept loose. It slipped through Big Boss’s fingers like water, that damned black water he'd been drowning in for nine years – frustrated, he yanked it. It wasn't hard enough to hurt much, but it was enough to jerk Ocelot awake.

“Boss - “ he let out, shooting upright. When he realised the only threat was his own master, he slipped his gun back into its holster. “Sorry. Must have – “

“Taken a nap,” Big Boss said without malice. “You always did sleep like a cat.”

Ocelot smiled a little, the creases around his eyes bunching up. As soon as it rose his face fell, as if remembering something. “They call me _Shalashaska_ now,” he said.

Big Boss searched his knowledge of Russian. “Hm. Sounds like bullshit.”

“Most things are.”

They kept silence for a few long moments.

“ _Shashka_...it's a sword, right?” Big Boss asked eventually.

Ocelot nodded. 

Big Boss reached out again, this time to graze Ocelot's cheek with his knuckles. “Nine years and not a scratch on me, huh? Guess that makes you my sword.”

Ocelot smiled, twenty years younger in an instant and looking at him like he was everything.

 

 

\--

 

 

When Big Boss closed his eyes, memories flowed into his mind like dreams.

He was barefoot on the grass of Zero’s country estate, 1969. He had been itching for a fight, and continuing Ocelot's CQC training seemed like a reasonable excuse for it. Hunting dogs at his feet, Zero watched from the porch as they fought in the drizzling rain.

Sweating and lungs burning, they had given up the pretence of training to beat the sense out of each other. Snake, at least, was chasing that raw honesty found in pain. Ocelot had retreated, locked something vital away where Snake couldn't reach. It hadn't mattered as enemies, but as _friends_ the idea that Ocelot might hide a single thing from him burned Snake.

Blood spurted from Ocelot's nose as Snake landed a sharp jab; Ocelot staggered, blindly lashing out in all directions. Snake took the opportunity to push him down into the grass, crushing the younger man's body under his.

“Submit,” he ordered. 

Ocelot struggled, lips smeared with blood. Pressed so tightly against Ocelot's lean body, Snake couldn't help but notice how well they fit together on the wet grass, their wounds open and sore, bleeding into each other –

– Ocelot's crotch pushed against his - 

Snake’s blood pulsed. Ocelot stared up at him, shaky, coming loose. _Not here._

They pulled apart. Snake offered his hand and lifted Ocelot to his feet; Ocelot pushed him off and went inside to get himself cleaned. Snake remained outside to smoke and watch the rain, settling down with a cigar.

Somewhere between Tselinoyarsk and standing on his porch, it seemed Zero had taken a liking Snake's young protégé. Maybe he sensed The Boss in him, or maybe he recognised the terrible schemer in himself. Either way, he interrogated Snake like a concerned father.

"Be careful with him,” Zero said without moving from his seat.

Snake frowned. "Look, if you know something -"

"That isn't what I'm concerned about. He's young, Snake. He looks up to you. You remember what it was like with The Boss when you were his age."

Snake wanted to grumble something about that not being his fault, but the words were hard to come by. He said something childish instead. “She left me. I'm not – that's not me.”

Zero was looking at him closely now, like he had said something either very interesting or incriminating.

"I know he seems tough - young man's bravado and all that - but he's a great deal more sensitive than he lets on. There are things that could do him a great deal of hurt. That you might do."

Snake suddenly wished he hadn't finished that last cigar so quickly. Zero had Ocelot's knack for picking people apart, but at least Ocelot kept his mouth shut about whatever their relationship was supposed to be. Even worse, Snake had no idea what the hell Zero was trying to get at. 

Zero persisted. "You'll be careful with him, won't you? You owe her that much."

The rain was spitting hard now, riling the dogs up. Snake pushed one down from snapping at his hip. 

"Yeah. Sure."

An empty promise, but it was all he had.

He'd gone to bed early after drinking himself into a stupor over dinner. He was unsettled by what Zero had said; how Ocelot had piled the rest of his meat onto Snake's plate without a moment's hesitation. He knew Ocelot hadn’t eaten enough, having already sneaked food to the dogs. His trigger finger had been bandaged in a splint as he reached over the table to share his food, his face swollen with bruises as he smiled a little at Snake eating. A cat couldn't afford to share his meals with hounds - it went against every instinct he was supposed to have. 

_You’re not a snake, and I’m not an ocelot. We're men, with names –_

Ocelot caught up to him in the hallway, cheeks tinged pink with wine.

“John – “

The ease of his name on Ocelot’s tongue startled Snake. He grabbed Ocelot's wrist and Ocelot looked at him intensely, like he wanted to start something. Snake readied himself for another fight, blood surging as he picked out the softest parts on his body to hit.

Ocelot dropped it. “Night, Snake,” he said quietly before retreating to his room.

Snake slept fitfully and dreamt of wrestling a man that looked like Ocelot to the ground, smashing his face in – looming over him, unzipping his trousers and shoving his dick into his mouth, Ocelot's fingers digging into his thighs as he obediently sucked. He woke suddenly, boiling hot.

Before he knew it he was at Ocelot's door, turning the handle. He heard rustling – Ocelot arming himself against Snake's intrusion.  

_"Snake?"_

The sound of yearning was almost pitiful - if only Snake could hear it.

In the darkness he could make out Ocelot's form, half under the covers, eyes gleaming. He’d put the gun down and was waiting silently. Snake crawled over him, the bed creaking under his considerable weight.

When Ocelot moved to kiss Snake he turned away; allowed Ocelot's mouth to graze his cheek instead. Without missing a beat Ocelot moved to rapidly press kisses to his jaw, hand slipping from Snake’s grip to stroke the muscle of his arm. Snake didn't need to justify what he was doing. He knew how these things worked among soldiers, even if he had refrained in the past.  _Having personal feelings about your comrades is one the worst sins you can commit._

He didn't have to worry about something like that with Ocelot. 

He helped Ocelot peel off his thin bed clothes before settling in between spread thighs. The heat radiating from where he opened was intoxicating. With instruction he jammed his slick fingers into Ocelot's body, unsure of exactly what he was doing but knowing how to please Ocelot well enough all the same. He curled his fingers and Ocelot was running his hands over his body, biting back his excitement, the bluntness of Snake’s crude stretching spurring him on.

Snake was drawn in by his scent, and slid down his body to lick at his hole. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air, his shivering skin; testing Ocelot’s readiness. It was hot - _heavy_. Ocelot bucked and tried worming away - was this not done in the barracks? too intimate? - but Snake’s hands kept him pinned by his thighs. His beard scratched sensitive skin as he dragged his tongue, made Ocelot clench up and twitch. He heard Ocelot rambling, felt his hands twist in his hair and push, but he didn't care. He knew Ocelot kept himself meticulously clean, but he doubted anything less would stop him now anyway. He was sure it had to feel good from the way Ocelot was trembling. 

Snake withdrew to push the head of his cock against Ocelot’s hole, daring him to fight back before he split him open entirely. Ocelot let out a low whine instead as Snake fucked into him roughly, burying himself into that inviting warmth. He was relentless, drilling into him in search of _something_ –

Ocelot was struggling on his cock. He shoved Snake off to roll onto his stomach, burying his face into his folded arms. Hiding again.

“Well?” he said sharply, looking back as Snake stalled. “Go on.”

There was nothing Snake couldn't do to him in that moment, couldn't take from him. He thrust back in, pushing Ocelot’s face into the mattress, drawing out moans loud enough to wake Zero. Snake could barely think long enough to consider it, so consumed by chasing down his pleasure, pounding into Ocelot with everything he had and more. And Ocelot took, and took -

Snake came with a harsh grunt, other hand gripping Ocelot's waist hard enough to leave a mark. Ocelot came soon after with a tight gasp, awkwardly clinging to Snake to keep him inside for as long as possible. Snake indulged him, flopped over his back like dead weight, breathing hot into his ear. He felt Ocelot shake with laughter, but when he asked what could possibly be that funny Ocelot brushed him off.

“You're good,” Ocelot said, breathy. “Better than I thought.”

“You thought about this?”

Ocelot wasn't smiling now. “You didn't?”

Snake knew the feeling of victory, of being satisfied, and this wasn't it. He could devour the world and it wouldn’t be enough.

Come morning, he could barely look himself or Zero in the eye. When Ocelot joined them at the breakfast table, staring at Snake as he reached for the butter, Snake kept his attention squarely on his toast and morning smoke. It couldn't happen again – he owed her that much.

 

  
\--

_1968_

"Flip a coin," Ocelot said.

Snake looked up from skinning a rabbit for dinner; recompense for putting Ocelot’s best shooting hand out of commission.

"You wanted to know if you believe in fate or luck,” Ocelot continued, drawing a coin from his pack, “well here's your answer."

Ocelot placed the coin in Snake's palm. Snake checked it was indeed differently sided: he didn't put it past Ocelot to hand out coins with identical faces.

"Heads you punch me in the face," Ocelot said in good humour, “tails you kiss me."

Big Boss felt sweat prickle on his forehead. "You're – you know what it'll land on."

"I don't. Remember, it's in your hands. Go on, John."

Snake flipped the coin.

_Heads._

"You knew,” Big Boss said. He wasn't sure to be relieved or not.

Ocelot smiled now. "I know the outcome, not the side the coin would land on. Analysis and –"

"– wishful thinking,” Big Boss finished for him. 

"Right. So?"

Big Boss closed his fist around the coin.

"I don't have a choice,” he replied.

“So you believe in fate, then?”

Snake still didn't know. He struck Ocelot across the face all the same.

 

\--

 

_1984_

Ocelot had gotten his hands on some actual food. He tore off a chunk of cheese pita and passed it to Big Boss.  
  
"You still got that scar on your arm?" Big Boss asked between mouthfuls. He wasn’t sure why it mattered.

Ocelot unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeve up. Big Boss took hold of his arm, uncaring of the crumbs on his fingers. He traced the familiar jagged line before turning his arm over to reveal a deep gouge.  
  
"This is new," he said, digging a blunt nail into the groove.  
  
"Sure, if you count a decade ago as new. A rival officer tried to one up me in the showers. Bastard probably smuggled it in up his ass."  
  
"Wouldn’t have happened at MSF. We ran a tight ship."  
  
"So I heard. Had a pretty nice set up for yourself down there - beaches, thirty year old schoolgirls, nukes...my boys would probably appreciate it. But I've got a pretty stable job with the GRU and a couple other places, you know. Besides, I don't think your friend Miller likes me much anyway."  
  
"He'll get over it," Big Boss said. "Who wouldn't like you?"  
  
Ocelot snorted. It was easy to be hated so long as there was one person who liked you unconditionally. In this hospital room hiding from the eyes of the world, Big Boss felt like he might be the most beloved person in the universe.      
  
"The path ahead - even getting on your own two feet again - isn’t going to be easy,” Ocelot said, shifting the papers balanced on his knee, “but you're used to doing things the hard way. I'll be there, of course. If you want me."  
  
He finally noticed Ocelot sneakily eating his food between reading. He lazily swiped at Ocelot. Ocelot laughed and pulled away, stuffing more into his mouth before Big Boss launched at him, grappling him into a headlock.

Unbending, immaculate loyalty was carved into Ocelot’s bones. It wasn't human, possessing that sort of purity. Big Boss had seen it before, in that field of white flowers. He pulled Ocelot down to his chest, holding him tightly.

“I always want you,” he said into Ocelot’s hair, trying to convince himself that this was one thing that hadn't sunk into the ocean with Mother Base. 

 

\--

 

_1972_

Ocelot only rarely made it out of the Soviet Union to join the rest of Cipher in the States. Snake needed to see him first, so he intercepted him at the airport. There was no use in being secretive about it: Zero tracked him wherever he went these days, breathing down his neck like one of his dogs hunting quarry. 

He’d been expected. They firmly embraced, Snake clapping Ocelot’s back, Ocelot slapping Snake’s chest as they pulled apart.

“Good to see you,” Ocelot said, his smile radiant. Snake couldn’t help his own grin and kept his arm slung over Ocelot’s shoulder on the way out. 

“It's so warm,” Ocelot remarked later as Snake helped load his bag into the car boot.

“You trying to get me to buy ice cream?” Snake said.

“If you're so keen to offer.”

“Hope you packed some money then.”

He laid the accent on thick now: “Oh please, sir, I’m only a poor tourist...”

It ended with Ocelot reaching across the car to let Snake lick his ice cream when he expressed he liked Ocelot's better, and both moving simultaneously to turn the radio off.

“I booked you a hotel room for tonight,” Snake said when Ocelot frowned at the direction they were heading in. “We'll go meet the rest of the group tomorrow morning.”

If Ocelot had any concerns about the new arrangement, he didn't express them. That night at Zero's years ago remained unspoken between them, half a dream. Ocelot slept around, and Snake not at all; that they had drunkenly met in between for ten minutes of an entire lifetime - and they would know each other for their entire lives - had no bearing on the core of their relationship. A coin had been flipped between violence and sex, and the latter won. They may as well have wrestled on the porch.

Ocelot lit Snake's cigarettes for him as they drove – smoked one himself without asking – and insisted on carrying his own bag inside the hotel. They ate, talked without touching anything serious, and milled around their room before deciding it was still too warm even at night.

The hotel pool was empty save for them. Snake drifted against the rim, enjoyed feeling weightless. Ocelot sat beside him on the steps, half submerged, arms hanging loosely around drawn knees. His pale skin was both dark and electric blue in the pool light, growing hair pushed back from his face and dripping. Snake noted with fondness how much he'd grown both under and away from his watch. He spoke with more consideration but still squirmed when Snake joked about drowned cats. 

He had almost forgotten his worries by the time he came around to making his confession against Cipher.

“They haven't said a thing to me,” Ocelot admitted after hearing it all. “Which means they're up to something. I'm sorry, John. I should have kept a closer eye on them – “

“Can't be helped when you're not around,” Snake said shortly. 

“I'm on your side,” Ocelot reminded him quietly, sensing his worry. He touched Snake's arm gently. “It doesn't mean a thing to me without you there.”

When Ocelot slipped into deeper water, Snake followed as if drawn. They circled each other before meeting in the middle, cool skin touching as they gripped each other. They had splashed around like children before, trying to dunk each other into submission. But now the shifting light reflected on Ocelot's face, drawing that woman out from the shadows, and he lost the will. He felt challenged instead by the faded marks left by a previous lover on Ocelot's throat.

He let his hand rest on Ocelot's waist beneath the surface and risked pressing a wet kiss to his throat. Never - never his mouth. That coin had landed on heads. 

When they returned to their room, Ocelot said something about washing chlorine from his hair and closed the bathroom door. Snake stretched out on the bed, naked, drying his skin. He skimmed over the small bible left in the drawer while he waited, looking for divine intervention to stop him from laying his hands on The Boss's son again.

Ocelot emerged from the bathroom, smelling hotel-brand clean. He sat down beside Snake, soft bathrobe brushing Snake's side. Snake rolled to his side, inhaling his scent, the warmth of a familiar body. He remembered that hidden smell from years ago and was instantly aroused. The light was warm and low, and when he half-closed his eye he could almost see the outline of that woman, finally come back for him.

Seeking reassurance, John placed his head on Adam's lap. A hand stroked his damp hair, tender in ways John had forgotten. He wanted to ask Adam to stay. He was her first son - there must be some legacy left to him that could convince Zero he was mistaken, that the proof was in his blood that Snake had to be right. _Don't leave me with them._

Instead, Snake slid his hands beneath Ocelot's bathrobe, touching bare skin. He enjoyed watching Ocelot's muscles shift as he rode him; ran his hands over Ocelot's chest as he bounced in his lap just to feel the effort it took to accept Snake inside his body. There were more pale bruises on his thighs from where thick hands had cradled him on another night like this. Snake jabbed upwards, the motion making Ocelot moan and roll his head back. He was far from an experienced lover, but Ocelot seemed to enjoy everything he was given, still as loud as he had been under Zero's roof. Snake supposed this was one of the few times Ocelot allowed himself to simply  _let go_ \- he'd witnessed as much while firing off shots on the battlefield. 

He got his fingers to where their bodies were joined, rubbing at where his cock slid inside Ocelot, feeling how Ocelot stretched and spread his body to accommodate him. In the dark he had thought little of fucking _Ocelot,_   _his friend_ , but now in the lamplight he could see the attractive pale curve of his arched back, his throat, his thighs - those bare hands gripping the sheets that he’d seen slash a man’s throat, or greased with gun oil as he tended to his precious Single Action Armies -

Snake’s orgasm came crashing down on him, dragging Ocelot with him not long after. He had thought they were done, but neither moved to switch the lamp off or clean up. Ocelot stared at him with unfinished business in his eyes, hand stroking down his side. Snake found he didn't want to be left alone now that company was within reach. He let Ocelot push him down next, massaging his thighs, soothing him like a spooked horse. _Trust me -_ of course Snake did. Nobody was as trustworthy as Ocelot in their little world.

It was a strange feeling, being filled. Ocelot was more gentle than Snake had known or wanted him to be, breathing into his throat, licking the hair above his lip as he pumped into him. Treated him like something precious, like he deserved the hot bursts of pleasure as Ocelot nailed his sweet spot, rubbed at his cock. Snake had wanted to struggle, to feel the burn; he jerked against Ocelot, demanded to be roughly held. But Ocelot embraced him, murmured his name like a vow, spilled inside him almost gently. Snake had to look away from Ocelot's face, the emotion in his eyes too honest - he wasn’t quite ready to see what Ocelot had hidden from him after all.

They lay together after, breathing slowly, still wound up in each other. Snake took Ocelot's hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissed his palm open-mouthed, down his arm, rewarding his loyalty, his companionship. When he reached his throat he bit down hard, tearing flesh. Ocelot moaned and moaned, refusing to fight him off as he bled.

Snake rose first the next day. He pulled his clothes on and went downstairs for a smoke, leaving Ocelot to come find him.

“Thought you'd run away for a second,” Ocelot said, bag slung over his shoulders. He had forgone his scarf in the heat and his throat was black. Snake muttered something about checking out of the hotel and retrieved the car. They drove across the city in silence. Eventually Snake put his hand on Ocelot's thigh, just to let him know. Ocelot stole another cigarette. 

When Ocelot left three days later it would be the last time he'd see him in years. Months later, when EVA's stomach could no longer be disguised, Snake was told he was to be a father – twin sons.

He fled.

 

\--

 

_1984_

Ocelot was staring at that decoy again. He seemed perturbed by its very existence, as if he couldn't decide to look at it or through it. Acknowledging it as anything but a dead man carved out for filling seemed beyond him. _Venom_ , he’d named it. Big Boss felt him in his veins, sapping his life. Maybe the growing numbness in his heart, spreading to the tips of his fingers, was the punishment for having decided the fate of his MSF comrades - _Kaz_ \- so glibly.

Big Boss flexed his muscles to get the feeling back, knowing he needed to get his hands on a gun again before the monotony of existence killed him.

“Trying to get it right this time?” Big Boss asked, watching that near-perfect copy of himself enter its first stages of awakening from his own bed. His legs itched to be walking again after having a taste of it.

Ocelot looked up coldly. “He's nothing.”

"Cruel. That could be me you’re talking to in a few days.”

“He’s not you."

“But you won’t know that.”

Ocelot wasn’t often mad with him, and never seriously, but now he turned away from Big Boss’s bed.

“You’re not the only one that hated that project,” Ocelot said, still not looking at him. “He’s a decoy. Think of him as an extension of your will, your legend. He’s not meant to replace you. You’re not - it can’t be done.”

“There’s a million Johns,” Big Boss replied blithely, “you won’t be missing much by switching one out. Should’ve just spared yourself the effort - the legend’s usually better than the real thing anyway.”

Ocelot was on him in a flash, pinning him down like he might strangle him. The pain of his fingers digging into Big Boss’s shoulders was ecstasy compared to that sluggish pleasure drawn in the shower - _good_ -

“John - don't you dare,” Ocelot snapped, that infuriated young man he’d once known burning in his eyes again. _You're all I've got_ was left unsaid. They weren't allowed to die until they had repaid their debt to the world for birthing that monstrosity called the Patriots.

Big Boss stared at Ocelot until he withdrew. He might have said sorry, or Big Boss may have imagined it, but either way he calmed down.

Big Boss patted the side table down for a cigar before remembering it was contraband.

“Can I have a -”

“No,” Ocelot replied, dragging the chair back from the bed with a loud screech.

 

\--

 

Ocelot was quiet before parting. He stood by the window with the flowers, gazing outwards at something Big Boss couldn't see. Big Boss knew better than to assume he was bothered about the lives they were about to throw into the flames. When one could see everything all at once, the minutiae became irrelevant; and Ocelot saw the place of all things on earth from a greater distance than perhaps anyone Big Boss had ever known - and his mother had traveled to space.

But even she had come crashing back down to earth.

He took hold of Ocelot’s shoulders from behind his back, watching their reflections together.

“I haven't forgotten,” Snake said into his ear. “You're a warrior. In Outer Heaven, that's all you'll be. You won't have to do this again.”

Ocelot closed his eyes and leaned back slightly, resting on Big Boss’s strength for the first time in a decade. He must have been tired, fighting alone for so long. His eyes were dark and bloodshot, exhausted from the beginnings of his hypnosis. He seemed to struggle with the process of forgetting _John_ despite his earlier assurances; Big Boss wondered if he even knew which Big Boss was holding him right now.

Sensing he was being pitied, even slightly, Ocelot nudged John away and assumed the stance: a final test.

Big Boss smiled, having waited for this. He was sick of thinking. He was flipped on his back more than once as he rediscovered his rhythm, but soon enough he had Ocelot under his heel where he belonged.

Ocelot handed him his guns after the fight as if it was submission. Big Boss looked up curiously from the revolvers left in his hands.

“Doesn't feel right taking them with me for this,” Ocelot replied. “Don't worry, I'm handy with my Tornadoes. You'll look after them, won't you?”

Big Boss huffed.

“Something wrong?” Ocelot asked, pulling his duster on.

“You going anywhere without these. Doesn't seem real.”

“Shadows moving in shadows, I guess.”

Ocelot often spoke in half-truths; this was no different. It was as if the man was incapable of speaking his own mind clearly - if he still had one underneath all those jagged layers of hypnosis and half-formed personalities. Perhaps he was afraid of being hurt by his own honesty, expressed for a brief moment in that hotel before Snake had turned away.

Big Boss thought of Zero's words, years ago on his porch, and doubted Ocelot had enough humanity left in him to feel that sort of pain anymore. In that way, Big Boss understood him perfectly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter they actually get out the damn hospital


	3. Chapter 3

_1960_

 

Adamska was sixteen, and newly joined with the Mountain Cat Unit. He pulled his uniform jacket on over the _telnyashka_ , covering up the worst of his burns from Volgin’s paranoid interrogation the night before; he knew the colonel’s reputation for sadism and his own appeal well enough to understand he’d come out of the experience fortunate for only a few light injuries. Looking in the mirror of his new barracks, Volgin’s marks on him covered, Adamska decided he liked how he looked now. Not just a desk spy playing with a gun anymore, but a _soldier_ \- just like his father. He felt the first real stirrings of pride in his life at his new self:  _Ocelot._

In the steamy bathroom of his quarters on Mother Base, Ocelot couldn't tell exactly who this man in his reflection was ever supposed to be.  

_You exist to serve Big Boss._

Of course.

“2+2=5,” he assured himself before downing the lie with another round of drugs.

 

\--

 

Perhaps he was more jealous than he had originally thought. _Out of sight, out of mind_ had never seemed more relevant as he watched Big Boss move between Quiet and Miller without sparing him so much as his real name. Perhaps he had forgotten that too, along with the language and memories they shared.

 _Stupid -_ it was his fault for getting wrapped up in a fantasy about sharing some metaphysical bond. Still, it hurt. He was used to being nothing - preferred it at times - but not to Big Boss.

Though he was less than a blip on Big Boss’s radar, he hardly went without attention from others. Like-minded men sniffed around him like he was in heat - they probably sensed his desperation. One excitable new recruit from the Caucasus may as well have been nose-deep in his crotch. Ocelot entertained his faltering Russian with a little flirting but otherwise stood remote: Big Boss didn’t need to see him taking pity fucks when he’d been gone from base too long.

Ocelot had never seen the use in staying chaste, or tied down to one lover, and he was about as shy in seeking pleasure as he was murdering. His first foray had been with a superior in his unit. They’d been drunk around a fire and he’d coerced Ocelot into sitting on his lap, letting him feel his hard dick through his trousers; Ocelot had called him a pervert but stayed to squirm around and get him riled up. Ocelot recalled the moment he peeled back the man’s balaclava to look upon his sweat-damp face more clearly than the sloppy fuck that had followed. Nothing was as important to Ocelot as the moment a man revealed himself entirely, in pleasure or pain, and he’d soon learned that he was exceptionally skilled in delivering both.

And so he’d been excited beyond measure about Snake fucking him all those years ago; that he might finally see Snake come undone under his hands. But it hadn't been what he wanted, not what he had hoped to see so badly it ached. What he wanted made him go red in the face in a way that sex never had. Holding him. Caring for him. Kissing his mouth. Touching his hair like he had in that hotel - that had been bliss. _Let me hold you. I love you. I’d die for you._

But Ocelot wasn’t even sure what he wanted Big Boss to do with the knowledge that he was loved. Return it? Unthinkable. Ocelot was grateful to have been loved as a friend, and as a son of the same woman - he wouldn’t risk rejection over something as selfish as infatuation, that greed for Big Boss which burned so many others.

It had been easier to accept all of this when he had believed his friend to lack the heart for romance. But right now Big Boss was pressed against the bars of Quiet’s cage like he was willing himself to slip through the bars just to touch her, and Ocelot knew that he would never be wanted that badly by anyone.

 

\--

 

_1964_

 Growing up in a communal environment, Ocelot thought nothing of pawing through another man's bag. Things were owned by the taker, and Ocelot was more than used to stealing.

Food was the most easily consumed thing in Snake’s belongings, so he took handfuls of rotting meat and fur and started cramming it into his mouth. He gagged, but kept forcing it down, determined as always. He knew there was a deficit deep inside of him, a gaping hole where something like a soul might exist but had never found him. So he pasted over it with the things he liked: westerns, guns, wildcats, an abundance of confidence. He liked Snake - _really_ liked him, more than he’d ever liked anything before - so it seemed obvious enough in his mind to absorb that too.

He was chewing around a bone when he noticed The Boss had entered the room, staring at him as if this was some disturbing spectacle.

“What - _can’t I get a minute alone in this place?_ ” he snapped and walked out, more than aware of the mess on his chin. Back in his room he spent a good portion of the night vomiting it all back up, but he wouldn't let something like that or The Boss’s disdain stop him.

 

\--

 

_1984_

 

“Trouble again, sir?”

Another failed target practice session, and Ocelot was beginning to look like a blowhard. Looking for a reason to stay busy - and away from Miller - he’d taken the new recruit under his wing for special training, only for it to backfire spectacularly. Fortunately, the kid seemed more interested in watching how his hips were positioned than his technique.  

“Must be the guns,” Ocelot said tiredly, reloading for the hell of it. “I’m more of a Colt Single Action Army man myself...no idea why I didn’t bring them here with me.”

A headache pressed into his skull and Ocelot made note to take another round of drugs without knowing exactly how he had reached the conclusion. Oblivious, the kid passed him his personal handgun for a test run: a nice heavy thing polished and kept pretty like he was trying to impress someone.

Squinting through his headache, Ocelot took aim. For a brief moment he imagined a familiar horned man had walked in front of the target, yet somehow a stranger, and before his mind caught up his finger pulled the trigger, sending a bullet clean through his brain.

The recruit whistled. It wasn’t a perfect shot, but neater than anything he’d done in weeks. Ocelot handed the gun back and returned to his quarters for those drugs, trying hard not to think on what he’d just used as target practice.

 

\--

 

_1964_

 

“Do you want to know why I trained you, Major?”

Ocelot looked up at the colonel’s face warily. Volgin didn’t seem too perturbed Snake had slipped from their grasp again, so Ocelot replied cautiously, “Because of my father?”

Volgin gave a sneering laugh. “Parents aren’t useful for anything but what you can take from them. Your abilities now have nothing to do with a corpse rotting in the ground. No, I chose you because you’re an exceptional person. And the exceptional can see the human race for the weak cowards they are. That American, what did you think of him?”

“He’s good, but he'd want to be as The Boss’s student -”

“No, during his _questioning._ Facing their own death and humiliated, that’s when you see men for who they really are.”

Ocelot thought of those blue eyes, surprisingly delicate with fear as The Boss’s knife approached. Ocelot knew she would have done it, had known that vulnerable tremble in her protege’s body was genuine. Besides the arousal, a strange realisation hit Ocelot: without even knowing it, Snake had _needed_ him. He had only escaped with his vision because Ocelot had allowed it - not even The Boss, perfect and glowing white even in that dark room, could have saved him.

The bullet hanging from his neck felt cold against his chest; he wrapped his hand around it as if to warm it.  “He doesn’t seem nearly as strong as he puts on,” he replied carefully.

Volgin was grinning, an awful sight. “You see? _Torture’s_ not such an ugly thing after all.”

 

\--

 

_1984_

 

He felt foolish for visiting that AI pod again, but he was waiting for something. Especially childish, when she - _it-_ had yet to recognise him as a person, let alone as a son. He may as well have been standing before that statue in Cyprus again.

He was turning to leave when she called out:

 _“-_ _there is nothing left inside me now. Nothing at all. No hatred, not even regret. And yet sometimes at night I can still feel the pain creeping up inside me. Slithering through my body, like a snake-”_

In his quarters, he laid down. The knack for self-pity had been beaten out of him as a child, but he distinctly remembered when he had last come close, mourning the dream that his parents would want to kiss and hold him if only they were alive to find him again.

He wouldn't go back again to see her again. She was twenty years dead, and the phantom had gone from that machine. The fantasy of his mother telling him he’d been a good child for waiting all this time had long been replaced by that memory of Big Boss cradling his head against his chest, telling him he _was good, a good kid, you be yourself with me, Adam, I don't mind_. He didn't need anyone else now, and if Ocelot been a substitute for even a fraction of her to him, then that wasn’t so bad either.

 

\--

 

_1964_

 

It wasn't hard finding Snake after making his presence obvious at the window. Up close, Ocelot saw a dimness in his eyes, and if they’d known each other better he may have asked where his fire gone since they'd last seen each other. As it was, Snake was eager to forget whatever had happened at the ceremony and Ocelot wasn't about to pass up time spent with his idol, so they hit a bar together.

“I’m told it’s _Big Boss_ now - I guess a congratulations is in order,” Ocelot said over a light beer. He’d ordered weakly, wanting to remember everything about this moment clearly: the texture of John’s skin, the rhythm of his breathing, the smell of his body as they sat close together. What he really wanted was to fight Snake to a bloody mess again, but given the older man's dreary countenance, he supposed that too would go on the tab.

“That's not my name,” Snake replied sullenly, on his third round already.  

“Right. Sorry - about what happened.” When Snake looked over as if to ask _why_ , Ocelot blurted out: “Your mentor.”

Snake lifted his drink in a mock cheer and downed it before asking for another.

Ocelot tried distracting him. “That CQC you two made up is really something.”

“You sure picked it up fast,” Snake replied.

“I was watching you.”

“Just me?”

“Uh - yeah.”

Ocelot felt his ears go red at the confession, but Snake didn't seem to notice. “Huh. Thought she might've given you some pointers.”

“ _Me?”_ Ocelot laughed. “She couldn't stand me. We were on the same mission and she only spoke to me to tell me how much of a failure I was.”

“Do _you_ think like that?” Snake asked suddenly. “Throwing away your life because someone else told you to?”

“Please,” Ocelot replied. “I’m not letting what happened to her happen to me. If one of those old bastards wants me dead they can challenge me, man to man."

“...and if _you_ believed in it?”

“Can't say I've ever believed enough in something to die for it.”

“Good,” Snake grunted. “Well, if you want to stand a chance, how about I finish off your CQC training? Can't let you show anyone else your half-assed technique.”

Ocelot tried his best not to sound excited, feeling the nine year gap between them stretching out again. “You really think she’d be alright with that?”

Snake smiled for the first time they’d sat down. “Yeah...I think that's exactly what she'd want me to do.”

A few drinks later - Ocelot lightheaded now as he was plied with spirits - and John was sharing his cigar with his new student, laughing as he coughed.

“First one’s always the hardest,” he said, that gruff, kindly tone back in his voice. Ocelot smiled, the tears welling in his eyes, blurring John’s edges with hazy light.

“Yeah,” he said, handing it back, “it usually is.”

 

_\--_

 

_1984_

 

When Miller called him sick after one of his messier interrogations, Ocelot barely paid it mind.

When he’d heard _Shalashaska_ for the first time he’d briefly wanted nothing more than to leave his name, take his horse and his gun and wander into the desert for good. _I’m not that person - it’s only a role - I'm only here because he's - there -_

But he was that person, and he had enjoyed it, initially. So he learned to live with it, as he did all his other roles. Besides, that pleasure had drained as quickly as his comrade’s blood did over Afghanistan's fields. At night when he’d peeled his gloves off he’d picture Big Boss as he slept in that hospital bed, miles and countries away, relying only on him to keep him safe. Remembered the feeling of Big Boss’s skin beneath his lips when he’d kissed his forehead, too anxious to kiss his mouth as he slept. The hopeful young man that had funded Cipher to make use of his wretched talents for good was long dead, but the man who loved his master would persevere anything if it meant keeping him alive.

 

\--

 

_1984_

 

Ocelot had felt his luck turn at the capture of _Tixij._ Miller understood the concept even less than Big Boss had - couldn't comprehend that he too had been in Quiet’s boots before - so they made sure to keep her locked up at all times.

Ocelot couldn’t help but see himself behind those bars, hated as he often was, so he often stood before them, willing to give her the benefit of the doubt Big Boss had always shown him.  

And it was because he saw himself that knew exactly what she saw in Big Boss.

“You'll protect him?” Ocelot said, casually leaning against the bars one day. The rain was falling steadily, but he still heard her affirmative hum. Of course she would - Ocelot could pick it as easy as he could dogs.

He worked the lock.

“Don't tell Miller,” Ocelot said, pulling the door open. She looked at him as if that was obvious, but appeared grateful all the same. Ocelot had another purpose for releasing her, of course - Big Boss was always in the forefront of his mind. So he tried to ignore the ache spreading across his body when he saw her silhouette with his, overlooking the ocean together under the rain. _If it makes him happy, it should make you happy._

 

\--

 

_1971_

 

Ocelot had some experience with hypnosis under the Philosopher’s tutelage, but _good enough_ was hardly an achievement. For the purpose of excelling he'd enlisted the help of one of the group’s old mentors, exiled for unknown reasons years before he’d even been conceived.

After some grovelling and bargaining, she had him sitting on the floor, legs crossed and meditating. She circled around him, tapping her cane rhythmically against the wooden floorboards.  

“Disregard any belief you have in the _soul._  Nothing is eternal, unchangeable. Your feelings and beliefs are nothing but a continuous stream of thought that gives the illusion of existing permanently as one being. Imagine you are that stream, and that you might stop flowing for only a moment as you come upon an obstacle, reforming seamlessly around it. It is that moment of interruption that you must enter, return from, and master at will.”

Ocelot imagined that stream in his mind, the rush of water carrying all concerns about the path Cipher was taking in his absence from his mind. As he focused a familiar shape formed in the darkness of his mind, the _obstacle_ : a man drowning, one he knew and loved beyond measure, just out of reach. Compelled by the need to save him, he stretched his hand out -

He was struck hard across the back by his teacher’s cane.

“You have failed,” she said. She added gruffly, as if to insult, “Your mother never had a problem clearing her mind after she came to find me. Hmm, must have been soon after your birth. I can see why. Perhaps you are still too young for this - “

Ocelot bit his tongue, sick of always being _the kid_ and always compared to _her_ but not daring to risk losing this opportunity. “I can do this. I just - I need to clear my mind entirely. I don’t think imagining a stream is going to help. Is there any way I could...learn to forget someone? Or something that was distracting me,” he added quickly. “Just temporarily.”

She leaned heavily on her cane, observing Ocelot’s face.  

“It isn't the object that compromises your mind, but your feelings,” she said. “Learn to ignore them and any matter of the will is possible. But as I said, you are young. Young people tend to be somewhat...attached.”

Ocelot’s legs were beginning to ache, and Snake wouldn’t leave his mind so easily, so he called it quits for the day. In the shower Ocelot scrubbed his skin hard enough to hurt. Forget his feelings for John? He couldn’t imagine that. Snake figured so brilliantly in his mind at all times that it often blinded all else. He imagined there wouldn't be much left once he faded, the rest burned out by its glare.

He bit his lip; there was one way to clear his mind, if only for a few seconds. He took his wet dick in hand and started pumping, imagining Snake on all fours for him, pulling Ocelot's hands away so he could get his warm mouth on him instead. He wondered what it would take to get Snake in that position - his life? The world? Ocelot could do it. He could do anything if he wanted it enough, and Snake was the only thing he wanted badly enough he might die for it.

He spilled into his fist, no closer to clearing his mind than he had been before coming here.

 

\--

 

 

_1984_

 

Quiet was gone, taking her gun and Big Boss’s heart even further from where Ocelot might find it. He too disappeared for some time, taking missions with barely a word sent back to base. Ocelot supposed he was mourning, but the men left behind were unsettled without their leader; Ocelot was already sporting a gash up his side from interfering with a knife-fight when Miller couldn’t shout the combatants down.

“These aren’t even your men,” Miller said, watching him get stitched up at medical bay. “Skullface is gone, and Boss is hardly around. Why are you still here?”

“Just waiting for the order to leave,” Ocelot replied blandly. “This PMC life isn’t for me. I need to stretch my legs, get out there and see the world with my own eyes rather than hear about it over the radio.”

“Huh...thought you’d be looking for any excuse to stick around Boss by now.”

“That’s your scene, Miller. I don’t rely on anyone.”

Miller huffed and turned to leave. He’d gotten a few beds down before stopping to ask:

“In the interrogation room, with Quiet. What did you mean by _I was the same way once?_ You just...got over it?”

Ocelot looked up at the ceiling, watching the fan circle slowly. “Zero used to say that a face means nothing when the soul can speak directly to another…I see a face, but...you even believe in that kind of thing?”

“You know, I’m not going to miss your pretentious bullshit.”

Ocelot snorted quietly. “You’ll be lonely once I’m gone.”

Miller really did walk off that time, and Ocelot was left to wonder if the fan was rotating even slower now.

Ocelot found he couldn't sleep back in his quarters, and his mind returned to that night in the hotel as it often did. It wasn’t the smell of sex he remembered, lingering on the sheets, but Snake’s heavy breathing as he slept, deeply as he always did around Ocelot. That he was trusted, that he had found someone to share honesty with, had been the greatest pleasure of his life. He was sure most men could move on after nearly ten years of pining, but having finally felt that _warmth_ of feeling fill the gap in his chest he couldn’t so easily sever it now.

He had laid an arm over the man’s body and held him gently, fearful of waking him up. He should have held him tighter - hadn’t known it would be the last time he’d see Snake for another ten years, couldn't have foreseen that from the moment John left, Ocelot would be left behind forever to ensure his freedom.

 

\--

 

_1970_

 

"What's this?” Snake asked, unwrapping the polished zippo lighter and inspecting it. 

"Here - " Ocelot plucked the lighter from Snake's fingers and twirled it. "Thought you could do with something a little better than that old relic you keep whipping out."  
  
"Nothing wrong with it," Snake grumbled defensively.  
  
"But you have to admit, this is better."  
  
Snake gave him a slow grin. "Yeah. It's pretty good. You wanted to hear that?"

“Of course. Happy birthday, John.”

Ocelot had a cigar for him of course, and Snake let him put it to his lips and light it. He inhaled deeply, his body relaxing completely on the exhale.

John reeled him in quite suddenly to press a kiss close to his mouth, but not quite. He seemed unusually giddy now, maybe from the opportunity a newly formed Cipher presented as a means to redeem himself.

“Everybody wanted me to kill you,” John said under his breath, making Ocelot’s heart quicken. “But I couldn’t do it.”

“Well, everybody told me to keep you alive when all I wanted to do was kill you.”

“Funny how that turns out,” John said, looping an arm around his waist. Ocelot inched in, just slightly so he might rest against the man’s broad chest. For all the scheming and killing he was so good at, Ocelot felt he might just be happy enough to spend the rest of his life right here, at John’s side. It wasn't the shape the Philosophers had molded him into, but at that moment it felt closer to the one he had been born into.

 

\--

 

_1984_

 

Another week passed, and Ocelot was about ready to storm Angola and drag Big Boss back himself. At least today the men had been forced inside by the pelting rain, so Ocelot ventured out to the shooting range to get reacquainted with his gun in peace. If they tore each other’s throats out in confinement, then so be it - they weren’t his men, after all, and Big Boss hardly seemed to care.

But alone or in company, Ocelot still couldn’t quite hit the mark. He too felt unrest stirring in his bones, making him itch for bloodshed. He hadn’t seen the battlefield in nearly half a year, having been confined to the role of glorified secretary on Mother Base. Hadn’t fucked since arrival either, despite being sorely tempted to give in to one of the brutes giving his ass a not so subtle squeeze on the way to mess hall.  And now as he missed shot after shot he became furious enough to considering dismantling his gun - this gun that wasn’t _his,_  fired on behalf of a boss that couldn’t remember ever being _his_ \- and throwing it into the ocean. But more than anything, it was the stinging of his own wounded pride, _am I still so unimpressive that you might leave me so easily?_

It wasn't long before that recruit, not so new anymore, found him - or rather, Ocelot finally noticed him watching. Ocelot smoothed his hair back with one hand and kept the gun raised in the other as the kid finally approached.

“Sir!” he said, snapping to attention, though mostly paying it to Ocelot’s soaked shirt. “Intel platform is requesting your presence. Please don’t ask why, I have no idea what half of what they said even means.”

There was nobody else around, and it wasn't as if Ocelot could kill anyone to let off some steam, so he propositioned bluntly, “Wouldn’t you rather fuck me instead?”

“I - yes, sir.”

“Quit with the _sirs_ and today's your lucky day.”

Inside his quarters he let that excitable new recruit push him over the desk and rut into him, muttering things into Ocelot’s hair as he fucked. He imagined it was Big Boss’s hands on him, saying these stupid things about how _good he felt, how hot he was, how he’d been been dreaming of fucking him since he first saw him._ He came within moments, immediately ashamed. The kid followed shortly, grabbing Ocelot's hips and filling him with cum - bad form to do that to an officer really, but Ocelot let himself think it was Big Boss’s too, warm and heavy and dripping down his leg.

Ocelot had half the mind to kick him out now, but he looked so pleased with himself, fondling his hardening again cock and openly staring at Ocelot combing through his damp hair with his fingers; and Ocelot _wanted_ the attention, so he pushed the young man back down and sank onto his cock.

“Jesus - shit - “

The man grabbed his hips and drilled upwards, making his pleasure loudly known. For his part, Ocelot squeezed his eyes shut, enjoying the release. If he just - got the kid’s hands _right_ there - he could pretend he was in that hotel room again -

A hand gripped his jaw, turning his gaze downwards. _Look at me._

And so Ocelot did, and upon seeing the needy expression on the kid’s face he saw exactly what he must look like to Big Boss in this light: young and desperate, a distraction he’d indulge in before leaving with the sunrise. The recruit was kissing him before he could pull away _\- Big Boss never kissed him -_ but Ocelot restrained from biting his tongue off for the sake of harmony on base _._ It was stupid to have even done this, fucking some kid in his twenties, far more pathetic than jacking off in the hospital bathroom -

The kid came a second time, his fingers digging into Ocelot’s skin as he slowed, cock pulsing. Still hard, Ocelot pulled off and pushed the man’s hand away as he sought to finish him off.

“It's fine,” Ocelot said, hoping he'd get the message and leave. When he didn't, Ocelot waved him off. “You're dismissed.”

Confused and looking rejected, the kid dressed and half-saluted before darting out the door, other hand zipping up his trousers. Once he was gone Ocelot sat down on the bed, skin damp all over and finding it hard to think for the first time in his life. He’d thought after the first time they'd slept together Big Boss might look upon him differently. Then surely, the second time, when Ocelot was inside of him, trying to tell him, _I want you to look at me, and see me as a man, as my own man - not as the kid you once knew, and not as her son._

But John had looked away, and that understanding seemed hopeless now. John was a man who lived rigidly in the past, never moving beyond first impressions or first loves. Ocelot couldn't bear to look backwards, to think of himself as never changing.

He felt something like despair creep in. That familiar picture of encouragement he had carried since arriving in Afghanistan filled his mind again; this time John’s hand was on his face, telling him he was his sword - and Ocelot had been so pleased to hear that - _Take your drugs,_ another voice urged him, the him that had inflicted this latest round of hypnosis on his current self. _Don’t consider the reality. You don’t want to know it._

But two plus two would only ever truly equal _four_ , and the old scar he was tracing on his arm seemed to split open, John's hands working in reverse to unravel every lie Ocelot had stitched beneath his skin. He might have been relieved to know that he hadn’t been forgotten, tossed aside like he meant nothing, but he was too furious with himself for endangering John’s life and the mission with his incompetency, his selfish hurt feelings. The possibility of betrayal made Ocelot’s heart freeze. Why couldn't he just _forget_ him, just for a moment -

But it wasn’t John that was the problem, he realised. John would always exist, whether Ocelot forgot him or not; and so long as _Ocelot_ existed, he would never truly forget him. _Having_ _personal feelings_ _about your_ _comrades_ _is one_ _the worst sins_ _you can commit_ \- Big Boss had repeated it for the longest time before finally understanding it for himself, riding off on his bike to fulfill his great dream; it seemed even now that John was still his best teacher.

Ocelot hadn't grown up with love, of any sort. He derided and idealised it in turn, and having felt it so purely without experience he had been overwhelmed, felt ashamed and disrespectful for _wanting_ so much when he should only be concerned with _giving_. Over the years he had sharpened it as a tool almost solely for John’s wellbeing, in the hopes that John might look upon him and see him as the best. Love was a skill, and Ocelot pursued excellence in everything. He might still become perfect at devotion yet.

So he closed his eyes and took hold of that sword, turning it on himself. If he couldn't let go of John, then he would gouge out everything else- nothing within himself would interfere with his purpose of keeping the man he worshiped alive.

The next morning he found his aim easily, dropping his guns into their holsters and walking past Big Boss with a new determination to serve, perfectly content under hypnosis again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I'm sorry for taking so long, this was just one of those things I couldn't beat into shape so I'm setting it free, it's probably riddled with typos but hey. Honestly I just vent my ship/character feelings here lol thanks for reading my thesis

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just having fun after rewatching the end of mgsv for the twentieth time, don't hurt me. And I'm switching between POVs for each chapter.


End file.
